


Do Not Stand at my Grave and Weep

by myglassesaredirty



Series: Oh Boy, Kiddo [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: ALL THE ANGST, Angst, Major character death - Freeform, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, tho it's not detailed, warning for suicidal tendencies and depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-23 21:31:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13198956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myglassesaredirty/pseuds/myglassesaredirty
Summary: Tony dies in the battle against Thanos. He leaves something for Peter.





	Do Not Stand at my Grave and Weep

**Author's Note:**

> SI to PI? My current WIP? I don't know her.
> 
> This was inspired by an edit I saw on tumblr for Lucy Pevensie. It's been up there for like a month now, so if you've already read it, tough. (Just kidding, I really hope you like it).
> 
> Heed the warning in the tags: brief mention of suicidal tendencies and depression, major character death mentioned.

The humming stops.

He hopes it’s not what he thinks it is, hopes that he’s wrong and something…weird just happened.

But even as he wishes hopefully, the world turns black, the colors of the sun plunge into a myriad of browns and greys, and the only sound that he’s hoping to hear refuses to touch his ears.

He doesn’t know when the fight stops. He doesn’t know how he gets home, or how he ends up asleep on Tony’s bed. He doesn’t know why he wakes up and no one’s willing to talk about it.

Rhodey looks at him with pain in his eyes, tinges of red coloring his dark brown eyes. His shoulders sag, and he opens his mouth to say something, to offer this kid some comfort. But each time he tries, his words are blocked by a rock in his throat, and he turns away before Peter can see him cry.

The other Avengers are quiet.

Steve just sits at the table, looking at his hands, his blue eyes looking a thousand yards beyond that little table. He’s haunted by the screams of Peter and Rhodes, haunted by the deaths of his friends, haunted by the glazed look Peter gave him the moment Tony’s heart stopped beating.

Dr. Strange rhythmically drums out a beat on the sofa’s armrest as he closes his eyes against unwelcome memories and clenches his jaw each time his mind replays the horrible screams, the gruesome deaths. Occasionally, he’ll flinch, and then he stands and paces for a few minutes before he goes and raids Tony’s old alcohol cabinet.

Wanda sobs quietly in an isolated corner. Steve occasionally will sit by her side, but no one else makes any effort to comfort her.

Sam’s grief is tangible. His shoulders are heavy, and he disappears into his room with a bottle of vodka. He cries sometimes.

Dr. Banner works in the lab, often avoiding the young hero. After Peter had managed to rouse the Hulk in his suicidal state, Bruce can’t help but try to forget the little kid with tears in his eyes as he packed punch after punch, hoping that the Hulk could kill him. Bruce stays away, wiping his tears away every couple of minutes, rarely poking his head out of the doors.

Peter doesn’t know how long it’s been before Rhodey approaches him with tears brimming in his eyes. He’s holding a folded piece of paper in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. “Um,” he says, his voice thick, “I just – I wanted to tell you that Stark Industries is yours now. Tony willed it to you.” He shoves the paper at Peter. “And he left this for you as well.”

Peter takes it.

The city holds a funeral for the fallen heroes, and Sam stands by Peter’s side the entire time. Tears sting his eyes and roll down his cheeks; by the time they honor Tony Stark, Peter has turned into Sam’s side and sobs rack his body.

Every day he spent with Tony is now gone – days in the lab, days of hesitant heart-to-hearts, days where Tony teased him for having a crush on a girl. All of it’s gone, and it can never be relived.

Sam takes him back to the compound when it’s all over.

Time passes, schools remain closed, and Peter has the responsibilities of managing a company shoved at him. Rhodey takes charge, shuts down any form of harmful production, and keeps going until Peter can manage on his own.

Peter doesn’t read the note for months. He doesn’t want to open it and see a fart joke written in all caps, and he doesn’t want to read what is more likely a heartfelt and heartbreaking letter addressed solely to him. He doesn’t want that reminder that Tony is dead, long gone, bones turned to ash and buried up in the stars.

It’s Tony’s birthday – or, what would have been Tony’s birthday – and the reality of it settles heavily on Peter’s shoulders. The world is black and cold, unforgiving in the face of a teenage boy with no one left to guide him. A lamp lights his room, but otherwise it’s dark, and the soft and burnt yellow adds to the dampness that fills his heart.

He wants to die.

He buries his head in his hands and sobs. His shoulders heave, and cries escape from his lips. The blackness is ever-expanding, dragging him in deeper, deeper, deeper still. It’s heavy and dark and toxic, and he just wants out. The chain life has wrapped around his throat pulls taut, and he’s choking on his own tears, drowning in his own cries.

And, by some divinity, the note falls from his nightstand to his side.

He picks it up and unfolds it, begging God that Tony left him some form of hope, some belief that it gets better. Once he can see through the blur of his tears, he reads:  
“Do not stand at my grave and weep. I am not there, I do not sleep. I am a thousand winds that blow, I am the diamond glints on snow. I am the sunlight on ripened grain, I am the gentle autumn rain. When you awaken in the morning’s hush, I am the swift uplifting rush of quiet birds in circled flight. I am the soft stars that shine at night. Do not stand at my grave and cry; I am not there. I did not die.”

The lump lodges in his throat again, and he’s about to crumple up the note and throw it away when he catches sight of another line.

“I stand beside you in the nights that glow, I watch with a smile as you grow. I beam with pride when you guide the lost, the hurting, the broken at best; I protect you as you sleep and rest. You’re a teenager, alone and scared. I want to tell you – I was never prepared for the light you brought into my desolate life, where you stood, a calm amidst the strife. I want to remind you that you’re never alone – you won’t ever, ever be on your own. I’m with you every day, whether it be at home, at school, or at play. Not all tears are evil, so go ahead and cry – I just wanted, once, to say goodbye.”

Peter’s still crying, and his fallen tears blur the ink written on the page, but there’s something else – a hope that’s springing in his chest, a light that is piercing through the blackness. He reads Tony’s poem, and he turns the sheet over to see Tony’s words again, this time less lyrical:

“So…I didn’t really know how to say this, but I want you to know that I’m with you every day, pal. Every day. You’re never alone. You’ve got that girl, you’ve got Ned, you have a plethora of people who are willing to back you up at every turn. Even if I’m not there, you’ve got adults in your life who are willing to help you, to give you a guiding hand. But I also want to remind you – I’m still here. Not physically, but you’ve known me for a while now, Peter. You know I’ll always be proud of you. And, sure, I wasn’t prepared for you to enter my life, but God, am I glad you did. Despite all the crap that was going on, you managed to let me hold onto some faith in humanity. You taught me a lot, Pete…too much for me to put into words, in fact. But most importantly, you taught me what it was like to love someone unconditionally, and you taught me the joys and curses that come along with parenting. I never was a dad, kid. Thought I’d be terrible and I’d ruin my kid’s life. Even still, you were the best son I could have asked for. I just…I wanted to say goodbye. I never got that in my life, and I know you haven’t, either. I’ll miss you, son.”

Peter wipes his eyes and curls into a ball. The light from his lamp seems less burnt, brighter somehow. He falls asleep with that letter clutched to his chest.

And when he wakes up, he’ll take over Tony’s company and he’ll make it the greatest thing anyone’s ever laid their eyes on.

But right now, he has that reminder from Tony.

And that’s enough.


End file.
